Mia kneeled in the garden, soil staining her jeans as she helped old Reed plant new roses. The sun warmed her back, but it did little to thaw the cold loneliness that had settled in her chest these past days.

"You've got a natural touch with these beauties," Reed said, his weathered hands gently patting the soil around a young plant. "Most folks just see the flowers, but you understand they need care down at the roots."

Mia smiled at the elderly gardener. "My grandmother taught me. She said ...